


Whiskey Dance

by ThePsuedonym



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, But that's stretching it, Canon Compliant, Complete, F/M, Heavily Implied Character Death, How do I tag?, May be depressing to some readers, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Trisha is Stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePsuedonym/pseuds/ThePsuedonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trisha reflects upon her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Dance

It began with a door.

Actually, it had begun with a bottle of whiskey and a dance. She herself had been far too young to drink, but she clearly remembered Pinako – she had always insisted to be known by her first name, which always used to seem so _odd_ to her but made so much more sense now – taking a flask of the heavy liquor and lightheartedly offering it to her companion, who was comparatively downcast despite the revelry that abounded around him.

Trisha had kindly offered him a dance, but he had turned her down; infamously stubborn as she was, her mother had been adamant in teaching her proper manners and she gracefully accepted the temporary defeat despite her own disappointment. But the Elric girl wasn't known for her mulish patience for nothing. Instead she found herself unable to take his 'no' as a finality, deciding that she would earn that dance, no matter how long it took.

Years passed, and Trisha grew from a young little girl into a young woman, and with that change the infatuation matured. When she became of age other men began vying for her hand, but her heart had long since been stolen; nor she could bring herself to care that no less than a decade had passed since she had first and last seen him.

Her chance finally came one night, at some festival whose parameters she couldn't care to recall, because he was _there_. He looked as world-weary as he had that night, shoulders hunched and head bowed, golden hair almost burning in the firelight while his glasses blankly reflected the flames. Just like the first time, but so unlike it, Trisha offered him a dance.

He looked at her – he seemed to remember the night they had met, despite the many years between – and after a moment's hesitation, he took her hand.

 

One night became two. Two became four, and Van, as Trisha soon came to learn what his name was, extended his stay in Resembool from the anticipated few days to several weeks. It was, in fact, no less than a month before he finally left, with a note of reluctance in his voice as the young woman bid him adieu at the ramshackle train station. Urey had come along as well, though with far more glee at seeing the traveler depart than his childhood friend possessed.

After attending to some time-sensitive meetings, Van returned, much to the Rockbell man's dismay, and they danced once more, now in the colours of autumn as opposed to the heat of summer. Time passed in the stripping of tree branches and the drop of temperature, and only once the oak and maple were stripped bare by the turning of the earth, he left once more, promising that he would return.

She promised that she would wait however long was necessary; and she could see that such devotion scared him, not because of her eagerness but because of her care. It hurt more than she wished to admit, to know that he expected no one to love him in such a way.

The object of Trisha's affections – for she was too old now to hold any petty crushes and such a childish word could not describe the feelings she held for the man – returned again with the death of winter, and hope bloomed within her as spring awakened the land. Snow had long since melted into the ground when Van walked the dirt roads of Resembool once more, and the flowers had already begun to blossom in anticipation of his return.

Welcoming him with open arms, Trisha found another surprise awaiting her in the early throes of summer, when the sky was still cerulean and the air didn't swelter with overbearing heat, and he had returned to her for a third time. Four, if one counted the meeting when she was still so young. Although circumstances limited his ability to retain tradition, Van still brought tears to her eyes when he asked her those four life-changing words.

“Will you marry me?”

 

Several seasons turned before Van left her again. They had since been rewarded with not one, but _two_ while the other had proudly inherited his mother's demeanor.

It wasn't restlessness that stirred his bones, but responsibility. And fear. Responsibility to find and end Homunculus once and for all; as the last survivor of Xerxes, Van claimed obligation for the creature's continued existence and took it upon himself to eradicate it. Fear for what it may do once it had learned of Van's family was enough to hurry his departure, leaving behind a pair of confused boys too young to comprehend and an understanding mother.

“However long it takes,” Trisha had told him. “Even if you need a thousand summers, Van, I'll wait here for you.”

 

Trisha stood by the window, gazing out at the sunny hills of her childhood home. She could faintly hear her sons eagerly chattering about what they were going to do now that school had let out for the summer. Her older son said that he was going to study more alchemy from their father's books, while the younger asked about Winry, making some comment about her and her grandmother that slipped below her range of hearing.

Time had slowed for her since Van had left the village, and the long year ached in the young woman's heart. She could yet recall feeling his arms around her as he had left, holding her close and reassuring her that he would be back. She had promised him that she would, in turn, wait for his return, no matter how long it took; and so she would.

Yet nature took its toll and Trisha found herself weakening. The first cough was nothing but a passing spring sickness that could be toughed out like she had everything else life had thrown her way, and she found it disagreeable with her. It persisted, however, growing stronger with every day until she found it difficult to breathe, but not impossible to hide from her sons. The growing number of blood spots on the tissues that she used also made it more difficult, but it wasn't anything that the Elric matriarch couldn't handle. When the fainting spells began, however, the reality of her situation hit her: there was little hope that she was to live through the season.

But Trisha, being the woman that she was, still fought on, for her sons and still-absent husband, earning every second that she still breathed – but she knew she was to give in, and soon. The boys had become unnaturally quiet and careful around her, unwilling to cause their ailing mother any more pain. If she could, she would have kissed them both, even though her older son would have squirmed and complained throughout the treatment, she would still see the smile on his face.

Just like his father, she would think, remembering back to their first dance, his reluctance to even _look_ at her. He had, eventually, confided in her why she had acted so coldly, but she didn't mind, not at all. It was sweet, actually, that he would become so nervous around her out of his own feelings and a fear to embarrass himself around her.

The tickle of a cough grew in the back of her throat and took over, leaving her body trembling with the force of each shuddering exhale. Dropping heavily back onto the pillows, Trisha closed her eyes and sighed, remembering. For her, it had begun with a bottle of whiskey and a dance, but now it was ending with a promise and an apology.

“I'm sorry, Van.”


End file.
